And here I am, more lost than ever.

He flags down a server, ordering a round of old-fashioneds. Doesn’t ask what I want. He just remembers.

Some things never change.

“So, what’ve you been up to? Last I heard, you were taking the fancy hotel business by storm and living the good life.”

I shrug, offering a half-smile. “Living the good life––that’s debatable. It’s been fine, I guess. Keeping busy.”

He takes a drink of water while we wait on the good stuff. “You were always shit at lying, Sebring. Anything exciting going on in your life? Or is it all work and no play?”

“Does trying every old-fashioned in Sydney count as play?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds thrilling.”

His eyes soften, and I see concern beneath his usual swagger. “You miss it?”

I know what he’s referring to, but I play dumb. “Miss what?”

He gives me a pointed look. “Come on, Sebring. The field. The game. The rush.”

“I miss it every damn day.”

Kye nods like he already knows the answer. “Figured as much.”

The old-fashioneds arrive, and Kye wastes no time diving into rugby talk. “Have you been keeping up with the boys? Seen how things are going without you?”

I shake my head. “Not really. I hear bits and pieces here and there, mostly from Nate.”

“I’m going to fill you in, but you got to keep this on the down-low.”

“Sure.”

“Your replacement isn’t working out.”

That’s unexpected. “I was under the impression that David was satisfied with him.”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Kid’s got talent, sure, but he’s no Alex Sebring.”

A strange mix of pride and regret tugs at me. “So what’s the plan? They looking to trade him?”

Kye nods. “That’s the word.”

My stomach knots. I shouldn’t care, shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help it. “Please don’t say they’re looking at Tyson McRae.”

I brace myself for the answer.

Kye chuckles. “You’d rather set yourself on fire than see McRae in your jersey.”

I shake my head. “I couldn’t take that shit.”

Kye’s expression shifts into something more serious. “You don’t have to worry about that. They’re looking at you.”

I let out a short laugh, leaning back in my chair. “Good one, mate.”

But Kye doesn’t laugh. “I’m not kidding.”

The humor drains from my face. “I’m going to need you to explain what that means.”

“They want you back. Management’s been talking, and they’re interested.”

I blink, trying to process his words. It makes no sense. “They all know my injury never healed.”

Kye leans forward, his eyes locked onto mine. “But what if it could? What if your days on the field weren’t over?”

The weight of his words settles over me, and something stirs inside me.

Something dangerous––hope.